


Belief and Moving On

by LeDiz



Series: The 48: Dreamworks [2]
Category: Dead Like Me, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Dead Like Me level swearing, Discussion of Death, Gen, Immortal Characters, Unfinished, actually not discussing death, finding yourself between the lines, jack and george could maybe be friends, pre- mid- and post-canon for both series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:09:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeDiz/pseuds/LeDiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George the Dragon Slayer/Wonder Reaper meets Jack Frost, Guardian of Fun and a few other things. They're not quite sure why they can see each other. George is annoyed and Jack is scared, and both of them are finding themselves in life after death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. George sees things that aren't there

Georgia Lass never believed in Santa, or the Tooth Fairy.

She made a good show of it – wrote a letter every year until she was seven, put the tooth under her pillow until she was eight (and screwed up her own chances when her mother tried to be nice), and went on the hunts for eggs every Easter like every other kid in the world.

But she never believed.

Georgia believed in what she saw. She never saw sooty footprints on her mother’s immaculate carpets, little fairies with gossamer wings, rabbits laying eggs or anything like that. Why should she believe in something that didn’t have the guts to even show its face?

What Georgia saw were horrible, dangerous looking monkey things that smiled at her like they knew secrets. No one else saw them, but she did. And that was what innocent little Georgia Lass believed in.

There was one other thing Georgia saw that no one else did.

Sometimes, when Reggie cried, and little Georgia Lass looked into the shadows, she saw something. A big, tall, black something, with golden eyes and a crooked shark’s smile. She wasn’t afraid. She didn’t rush to see what it was.

Georgia Lass didn’t believe in the Boogeyman.

So hell knew why she could see him.

 

* * *

 

In the first major winter after her death, maybe three years after she’d stopped being Georgia Lass and become George the Wonder Reaper, she found Charlie leaning against a fence in the suburbs, watching a snow ball fight in the park across the street.

He looked better than the last time she’d seen him. He smiled as she walked up. “Hey, Toilet-seat girl.”

“Hey, shut up,” she greeted back, and they both turned back to the snow ball fight. It looked like fun, and so George hated Charlie’s afterlife on his behalf. It had to suck being eternally ten years old. At eighteen, she didn’t exactly have the best time of it – what with it being the age of social interaction and all. But for a ten year old that couldn’t work or even really take care of himself, death had to be hell. No friends, no family… she wondered where he even got his post-its from.

“Got a reap around here?” he asked, glancing at her, and she nodded absently.

“Yeah. It’s not for a while though, and I’ve already scoped it out. Owns a café down the street. Great mochas,” she said, then looked at him. “Wanna be my cover? I’ll buy you lunch.”

“Nah, that’s okay,” he said, still watching the kids. “I’m gonna stick around here a while longer.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, and settled back against the fence with him. The kids looked like they’d been at it for a while – their throws were getting sloppy and desperate, and more than a couple had fallen over into giggles, unable to fight anymore. The most energetic one, surprisingly, was probably the sole teenager among them. Babysitter or big brother, she guessed, and made a face at his fashion choices.

She’d never really been one for the metrosexual style, preferring her men with an effortless, classic, charming kind of masculine suave. But this boy, with dyed white hair, skinny jeans and dark eyelids (seriously, what was _with_ boys wearing eye shadow these days?), was clearly a follower of Queer Eye. It screamed of too much effort.

“You shouldn’t watch him for too long,” Charlie said suddenly. “He’ll notice you.”

“What?”

He looked up at her from under his eyebrows, then nodded toward the teenager. “You should pretend you don’t see him. We’re not supposed to see him.”

She made a face, glancing between him and the teenager. “Why? Who is he?”

“Jack Frost.”

“Who?”

He smiled wryly, proving once again that no matter how young he looked, Charlie was probably even older than her. “Jack Frost. You know, Spirit of Winter? Brings the ice and the snow?”

She scrunched up her nose, vaguely remembering singing _Winter Wonderland_ , and a stop-motion cartoon involving an elf and Frosty the Snowman. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Turns out he’s real. Go figure, right?” He looked back again, all smiles disappearing. “Keep watching. Pretty soon one of those kids is gonna walk straight through him.”

“They can’t see him?” she asked, and he shook his head. She kept staring at him, waiting for an explanation, but it never came, which wasn’t that surprising. If she was honest, what was surprising was how much Charlie had already said – he wasn’t much of a talker. So she turned and joined him in watching the fight once again.

Sure enough, as the kids wound down, and the teenager didn’t, he started coming closer to them, egging them on and calling for more fun. But the kids ignored him. Eventually, he bent down toward one, as if imploring her to play, and she just stood up, straight through his chest, and walked out the other side.

The teenager stiffened, waiting for all the kids to go past him, then seemed to slump before rising to his full height. He turned around, and both George and Charlie looked at each other blindly, refusing to be seen seeing.

He collected a strange branch thing from a tree, and then flew up into the air. He wasn’t wearing shoes. George watched him go with thoughtful eyes. “What is he?”

Charlie shrugged again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I think he’s dead. That’s why we can see him.”

“Huh…” She stared after him for a long time. “Why aren’t we supposed to see him?”

“Because he’s not supposed to be.”

“Dead?”

“Seen.” Charlie took a breath and pushed off the fence. “I’ve gotta go collect a duck. See you around, George.”

“Later, Charlie,” she murmured, and continued watching the sky as snow started to fall around her.

 

* * *

 

It had been so long since she’d seen the dark shadow that she had learned to think it was even less real that she’d once thought the gravelings were. But four years into her death, she and Rube had to attend a shooting in an open air market, and she saw it slinking along the stalls.

“That is one big fucking graveling,” she commented, and Rube blinked at her.

“What?”

They were leaning back against a toffee apple stand, using that oh so inconsistent invisible reaper ability to stay out of sight of the shooter still roaring for Beelzebub to show his face. The shadow was lurking near the psycho, watching him with curious eyes. Not exactly hidden, so she frowned back.

“The big shadow. Near A. Samuels over there.” Her reap. She’d collected his soul as he stalked past her earlier, but she wasn’t much looking forward to escorting him anywhere. But whatever.

Rube looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, then turned his eyes but not his head, looking ‘askance’ as he’d once put it. His eyes narrowed, then came back to her. “That’s no graveling.”

“It’s not?” She stared at it. It didn’t look like a graveling, but it had the same weird, shark-like skin and teeth, so she’d kind of assumed. Really, it looked more like a man made shadow, by a sculptor that didn’t really know how faces worked. Uncanny valley something spooky. “Then what the fuck is it?”

“That, Peanut, is something you aren’t supposed to see.”

But she had always been able to see things she wasn’t supposed to. She could look at gravelings dead-on, whether they wanted her to see them or not, and she was getting better at picking reaps every day. She had never described it to the others, but she could see it in a person – that they were supposed to die today.

“Is it Death?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“Fear.” He said it in such a way that she knew he was talking about a tangible thing. Like a rock, or a house, or… or Death.

“You’re shitting me.”

“No, I am not,” he said, and looked askance again. “You think we’re the only creatures in the world that walk the line between life and death? Between the real and the unreal? There are all kinds of creatures out there that we cannot see nor should we comprehend. That, little Georgia, is one of them, and one of the nastier ones at that.”

Fear seemed to have gotten bored of A. Samuels. It was gliding off down the stalls, and didn’t pause until it reached a little girl that George could just see, hidden under a coat rack and holding both hands over her mouth as she stared at the fallen bodies around her.

It wasn’t a big shooting. She and Rube only had two reaps a piece, and A. Samuels was one of them. But to a little girl, even one death is too much. George watched Fear crouch down beside her, its smile dark and cruel as it whispered in her ear.

“You make her scream, and I’ll do the same to you, mother fucker,” she ground out quietly, but that didn’t seem to be Fear’s intention. It seemed content to have her shuddering and breathless, eyes wide and lost.

George could feel Rube watching her, but she didn’t see much point in caring.

Fear looked like a graveling. Not just in the skin, or the teeth, or even the spiky hair that seemed so much like the frilly whatevers that stuck up all over them. But it had that darkness – the cold, shallow darkness that didn’t care about right or wrong. It was just doing what it would do, spreading fear, just as the gravelings brought death, without any care about whether the person it affected deserved it. Death, and fear, came to everyone. It was just a part of life.

She wouldn’t interfere.

But that didn’t mean she liked it.

“You said that’s a nasty one,” she said slowly, “does that mean there are nice ones, too?”

“I assume so,” said Rube. “You seen anything else like that?”

She thought about Charlie, and the boy that just wanted to play and then got walked through for his trouble. But he was Jack Frost, who brought ice and snow, and she’d seen way too many people slip, fall, and break their heads open to think of him as ‘nice’. “Maybe.”

“You don’t say…”

She looked around at that, but Rube just raised his eyebrows and shrugged, before his attention was caught by the arrival of the SWAT team. “Don’t go casting judgements too easy, Peanut. Remember, we’re the messenger boys of death, and that isn’t exactly what I’d call ‘nice’ either. Most people would call us evil fucking bastards.”

“That they would,” she agreed, and they watched in silence as A. Samuels was gunned down in a blaze of fire. Then they stood up and went their separate ways, Rube taking his reaps, plus one of George’s, while she trudged over to A. Samuels.

His eyes were clearer now, and he stared at the gun in his hand. “Beelzebub never wanted my soul, did he?” he murmured, and she shook her head.

“Not that I saw.”

He looked up at her with wide eyes. Innocent eyes. “Does he now?”

“Probably. You did shoot a lot of people,” she said, but took his arm anyway, leading him away from the scene. “But I’m afraid that’s not my call to make.”

“Will it hurt, where I’m going?”

The lights were already forming up ahead. A bed, with turned down sheets and fluffy pillows. A. Samuels stared at it, then smiled at her. “Thank you,” he murmured, and then got down on his hands and knees, and crawled beneath it.

George watched, nonplussed, and then turned back to look for Fear again. It was coming closer, and for a second, she thought it would speak to her. But then, she noticed, its eyes were fixed on something beyond her, and before she could even think, it actually managed to stride right through her.

Being walked through was something she’d only felt a couple of times, and not once since her funeral. It was not an experience she enjoyed.

“Holy shit!” she cried, spinning around, but Fear didn’t stop, or pause, or even acknowledge her existence. Which was made even creepier when it then proceeded to avoid everyone else pouring in and out of the market, before sliding into the shadows and away.

“What the fuck was that?”

 

* * *

 

December 2012 was supposed to be the end of the world, according to the Mayans, and George was a little disgusted to look at her weekly list and see how many were suicides by people who wanted to have the last word.

Mason, ever the philosophical one, shrugged and told her, “People are fucking idiots, Georgie. You can’t help ’em.”

“Actually, Mason, that is what we do,” Daisy said scathingly. “We help people find their way. Can I have my post-it, now?”

“Go forth and reap,” George said blandly, handing it over. Beside her, Roxy rolled her eyes and sipped coffee, but nodded her thanks when George passed her one too, while Mason made a face at his own.

“It’s two fucking degrees outside and you want me to spend my morning trekking through the goddamn wilderness? Fuck you.”

“Chill the fuck out, Mason, I’ll be coming with you,” she snapped, showing him her own. A pair of young lovers were making a suicide pact and leaping off a cliff in the nature reserve. Idiots for more reasons than one. “If you quit whining for once in your life, I’ll even give you a ride.”

“And what if I don’t want to?” he asked sulkily, and George gave him the look such a response deserved.

Daisy scoffed and stalked out of the kitchen, and even Roxy set down her coffee to watch her, perplexed by the dramatics. “What the hell’s up with her?”

“I don’t know,” George said quietly, gazing at the door as if she could see Daisy paused outside it. Things had been strangely stable, the last three years. They’d discovered the lavish mansion Cameron had owned actually had been his—in death, and everything—and it hadn’t been too hard to have Millie Hagen inherit it with some sucking up at the DMV. So they all lived together, relatively peacefully, and they were closer because of it. George didn’t know, but it also had a lot to do with her management style, and her insistence on seeing them all as a family.

But Daisy had been sad, lately. Sadder than usual.

George was starting to worry about her.

She was still thinking about it as she and Mason trudged through the woods, arms bumping companionably as they huddled in on themselves for warmth. “Did something happen between you two? You guys didn’t make out again, did you?”

Mason quirked a quick, sad smile at her. “Nah, darling. Daisy’s not interested in me at the moment.”

“No other guys around lately?” she asked. “She didn’t go on any auditions or anything?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Far as I know, she’s been living off her fingers, just like the rest of us.”

“I live off Happy Time. Roxy lives off the tax payers.”

“Fine, just like me, fuck off.”

She bumped his arm playfully, and he pushed her back, but they exchanged grins and nothing else, continuing on in silence for a few minutes. There was snow on the ground out here, just enough for small mounds every few yards, and it crunched under their feet as they walked.

There was something strange about it, she thought. Something… noticeable about the snow. She had no idea what it was, and the idea of it—particularly noticeable snow—was just stupid, but that’s what it felt like. It made her look up at the sky, and then around, thinking about strange boys with white hair.

They found their couple near the centre of the park, near a cliff that George knew from previous reaps overlooked a crystal clear lake. They were halfway down each other’s throats, gasping their love for on another when they should have been breathing.

George and Mason exchanged bland looks, neither sure whether they were disgusted or jealous, and didn’t bother to interrupt. They just walked over, snatched the soul, and kept walking, knowing that at most, the pair would wonder for a split second if their partner had grown another hand. That done, they moved back to the tree line and sat down to wait.

“It’s not that I mean to piss her off, you know,” Mason continued, as if they had been discussing Daisy all this time. “I do love her, you know? I want her to be happy. All the time, like.”

“I know,” said George. And she did. But Mason was a fuck-up. It didn’t really matter what he wanted.

“It’s just that she doesn’t want to be happy. It’s not like you, how you were angry for years and years and years—”

“Thank you, Mason.”

“—but you got over it, and became Georgie the Dragon Slayer, the new Rube,” he said, and she wondered if she should feel as flattered as she did. “Daisy’s been around much longer than you, and she’s still upset.”

“Hm.” George stared at the couple as they broke apart and looked at each other, nodding and grasping at each other.

“I love you, eternally,” one whispered.

“Forever and ever,” the other replied.

“And now no one will ever tear us apart.”

“No one. Let’s do this.”

“Yes. Okay. Okay.”

Mason picked at his fingernails. “Daisy’s so beautiful. But I think she’d be even more beautiful if she was happy.”

George frowned, considering that for a moment, then shook her head. “No… no, Mason, I actually don’t think she would.”

The couple jumped, and there was a loud thump, followed by a scream. It didn’t sound like either of the couple, either, so George cringed and got up to check there had been no innocent bystanders down below. She was never sure how to deal with bystanders, when they got hurt.

But it wasn’t a bystander. Not really.

Jack Frost was standing on the half-frozen lake below, apparently having been in the middle of icing it over when the couple had fallen onto its banks. Now, though, he was holding his branch like it was the only thing keeping him upright and gaping at the broken couple.

His head jerked up almost compulsively, toward the cliff edge, and his shock shifted slightly when he caught sight of her. After a moment, his brow furrowed, and his eyes—they glowed slightly, even from this distance—narrowed, judging her for what she was.

She felt more than saw the couple appear behind her, and glanced back, grunting when she found they were already making out again. “Would you two knock it off? You’re dead. Have a little respect for your reapers!”

“Your tongue is very flexible,” Mason told the messier one, who pulled away just enough to stare.

“What?”

“It’s very impressive. What’re you lookin’ at, Georgie?” he asked, wandering over to stand behind her and look down. “Hm. That looks like it would have been painful.”

“Our love shielded us from the pain,” the second partner said blissfully. “There will never be anything else.”

George groaned and looked down again, but Jack Frost wasn’t there anymore. She shook her head and stood up, but then jumped when she turned around and saw the spirit crouched on a branch behind the couple, staring at them with something akin to horrified fascination.

“Uhh…” George managed helplessly.

He was different, up close. Somehow both more and less real. His eyes were definitely a softly glowing blue, and his skin had a strange, ethereal quality to it. It took her a few moments to realise it reminded her of the way souls looked in that instant before they merged with the lights. But he wasn’t like them. He was solid, and sure, and didn’t look anywhere near the souls’ usual blissful acceptance.

She was vaguely aware of Mason trying to get her attention, and then frowning, before following her gaze. She leaned toward him. “Do you see that?”

“See what?” he asked. “It’s a tree, darling, I don’t see anything.”

Jack Frost seemed to be getting over his shock, his expression morphing into something sad but kind. He extended his branch—up close it looked kind of like something from Lord of the Rings—until it hovered over the couple’s heads, and when he shook it, soft, gentle snowflakes rained down over them.

It was oddly beautiful, and as the couple fell into each other again, the snowflakes were the first things to begin to glow, becoming the ever-familiar lights. Mason’s eyes widened. “Georgie. George, I – there’s a kid.”

“Shh,” she commanded. Jack Frost didn’t seem to have noticed their attention yet, and she was pretty sure it would be better for everyone if he didn’t. Up close, he looked like he was the complicated type. Once she was sure the souls were transitioning peacefully, she grabbed Mason and forced him to turn around, down over the cliff. “Look upset!”

“Wha- are we just going to ignore the blimming glowing –”

“Yes! Look upset! Now! Or I’ll give you a reason to!”

He stared at her, then abruptly burst into dry crocodile tears, and George rolled her eyes but pulled out her phone. “Oh, my gosh, I should call nine-one-one,” she announced. “Those poor people.”

Jack Frost came up beside them, and then leaned out, leaving only one foot on the edge of the cliff and hanging, impossibly, out over the air. He frowned at her, but she made a point of staring at the corpses below.

“Can you see me?” he asked finally, and she forced herself not to react. His voice was deeper than she’d expected, setting his age a little more firmly around her own. Up close, he’d looked younger before, more childlike. “You’re not human, are you?”

“Uh, yes, hello, operator?” she said to her silent phone. “I’d like to report an accident. I just saw two people jump off a cliff!”

“I know there’s no one on the phone,” Jack Frost told her. “I would be able to hear them.”

She ignored him, looking up at Mason, who was peeking over his shoulder in between heaving sobs. “Is he gone?” he squeaked. “I can’t see him!”

“Very smooth,” Jack Frost commented, and George groaned, lowering her phone and turning away.

“Come on, Mason.”

“Oh, good, so he is gone, excellent. What the fuck was that? Did you see that? What the fuck _was_ that?”

“I don’t know, but we need to get out of here,” she said, and ignored Jack Frost’s annoyed shout.

“Hey! Hey, I know you can hear me! Hey! Don’t ignore me.” The spirit had started out loud, but on the last few syllables, he began to fade down into something lost and sad. “Hey… come on…”

George kept her eyes forward as she dragged Mason away, back toward home, and tried to ignore the little voice in her head calling her a heartless bitch.

“Don’t ignore me…”

When she got back to the house that night, and found Daisy four glasses into a fresh bottle of scotch, she just stared at her for a few seconds, Jack Frost’s too-young face echoing in her mind.

Then, without a word, she crawled onto the couch beside her starlet sister and leaned her head on her shoulder, refusing to let her think for another second that she was alone.


	2. Jack demands answers

It was March, 2014, before she next saw Jack Frost, and once again, she saw him before he noticed her. Not that he could really be blamed for his inattention – it was raining hard sleet and he was busy shouting at thin air, while she was huddled in a shipping container, waiting for her reap to break his neck.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Jack Frost demanded, slamming his branch-staff-thing against the ground. Ice splintered out from it like a spider-web, but disappeared under the sleet. “This isn’t me! It’s called Climate Change, it happens!”

He looked different than he had last time. More solid. He still reminded her of lights, though.

“Because I felt like it!” he snapped, apparently responding to something she couldn’t hear. “I can’t go south yet; it’s too hot. Forgive me for wanting to stick close to home for a little longer!”

She hadn’t thought too much about him over the last couple of years. The merry band had kept her occupied, as had discovering the joys of middle management. She was in negotiations with the D.C. and New York divisions about which of the three of them needed another reaper more. It was taking a long time to reach settlement, because apparently Rube wasn’t the only reaper boss that didn’t understand email, and everything needed to be done via post.

But now she was looking at him, she wondered about Jack Frost. Where he came from, whether there were others like him. She wondered if he knew Fear.

She wondered who he was talking to.

“I won’t be,” he said, and jerked his arms expressively. “But I can’t exactly promise clear skies, y’know. I’m not the only seasonal in the world.”

A sickening crack broke through the pause, over the sound of the sleet. George sighed up at the sky, pulled her hood up over her hair, and stepped out into the slush. She ignored the way Jack Frost’s head jerked around to follow her movements. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t acknowledge him.

“Just a second, Bunny,” he said, and she pretended she didn’t notice him running after her. “You can yell at me more soon, I just want to see something.”

 He came to a stop at the same time she did, stepping up beside the soul of B. Stone, who scowled down at his beaten corpse, and then up at the miniature crane that had clocked him in the side of the head. “I told Bruce those damn things would malfunction in bad weather.”

“What are they?” she asked, and he gave her a dark look.

“They’re supposed to carry small crates, shift them from the containers to the back of trucks. Rolling death traps, if you ask me.”

“Well, at least now you have some proof,” she said, then grimaced. “Shame you won’t be able to say I told you so.”

“Hmph.” His eyes slid past her, onto Jack Frost, and again, George pretended not to notice him flinching. She did, however, try her best to silently tell B. Stone not to draw attention to what he wasn’t supposed to see, but he apparently wasn’t paying attention. “Who’s that? Another angel?”

George smiled at the same time Jack Frost gasped. “I’m no angel, buddy.”

“Bunny, shh,” Jack Frost said quickly, but George could feel him staring at her.

“What are you, then? You’re too pretty to be Death,” B. Stone said bluntly.

“Aw, you’re sweet!” She took him by the arm and turned him away from Jack Frost, even though all her reaper-senses were telling her she’d be better off taking him _toward_ the guy. She was pretty sure he and his glowy-eyes were screwing with her lame-ass powers. “I’m just here to take you where you need to go.”

“And the kid with the white hair?”

“Isn’t really there,” she said firmly, and ignored the indignant ‘hey!’ from behind her. “And even if he was, you don’t need to worry about that. Right now, this isn’t about him or me or anyone but you. And where you want to be.”

“Where I want to be?”

“Yeah… we’re going to find something that you want to see more than anything in the world.”

“What, like… like the Bahamas?”

“Sure, if you like. We can have margaritas.”

She led him onward and out of the shipping yard, leaving Jack Frost behind. She didn’t know why he didn’t follow, but to be honest, she didn’t really care. She already felt lousy for ignoring him, doubly so now that he knew she was doing it, she didn’t want to have to actually tell him to get lost.

Besides, she had a feeling that whoever it was he’d been talking to was probably doing it for her.

 

* * *

 

Georgia did not much like orphanages.

Mostly because she hadn’t realised they still existed. They made her think of Oliver Twist and other, even more ridiculous, things. But apparently they did still exist, and there was one right smack in the middle of Seattle.

Beside her, Roxy checked her post-it again, and then grimaced. “Think you oughta stay outside for this one. A cop might visit an orphanage for a routine inspection, but you don’t look old enough to be a social worker.”

“No complaints from me,” she said, and sat back against the patrol car. She was only along for the ride because her own car was in the shop (her beloved car was beautiful, but when it broke, it broke badly), and she’d needed a ride home. Roxy strode up the pathway and rang the door, while George allowed herself to fade out of notice and watched the world pass her by.

A prickling on the back of her neck told her a graveling had slipped into existence behind her, but she didn’t bother turning. “You’re a little late to the party. Roxy’s already inside and there’s no one out here but me.”

“An interesting comment.”

She blinked, then spun around, flinching away from the tall dark figure leaning on the roof of the car. “Holy shit! What the fuck?”

“Language,” it said, smiling at her. “So you’re the one who has our boy Jack in such a state. It’s been a most delicious year for that, so I suppose I should thank you, but you do have me somewhat intrigued.”

“Who – what – what are you?” she demanded, and it raised… well, it didn’t have eyebrows, but it did have expressive brow ridges. The teeth were even scarier up close, too.

“Do you believe in the Boogeyman, Mi- no… you’re not Millie Hagen, are you? Georgia Lass. Am I right?”

She stared at him. “The boogeyman. As in, like, hide under beds, scare children, sort of thing?”

“I prefer them, yes. But I’ll take an adult in a pinch,” it said, and she could tell from the thousand-yard stare that it was trying to freak her out.

But she was George the Dragon Slayer, and wasn’t scared of a goddamn thing. She set her hand on her hip and stared right back. “So you’ve heard of me, huh?”

“Oh yes. You’re the one who takes the souls of the living, and pretends not to see Jack Frost,” it said. “He’s been quite concerned. Not that he’s actively said as much, but I know that boy’s mind. He’s afraid you’re ignoring him because if you don’t, you’ll have to take him. And if that isn’t proof the Man in the Moon did wrong, I’m not sure what is.”

“The who and the what now?” she deadpanned. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, so, if you don’t have anything else…?”

“You really don’t believe in us, do you?” it asked, and folded another long arm over the top of the other, leaning closer. “So why do you see us, I wonder?”

She looked up at the orphanage, willing Roxy to come out and interrupt her discussion with thin air, but things were still quiet. She sighed and went back to the creep. “Probably the same reason you can see me sometimes. We’re not part of the living world.”

“Oh, but I am,” it said reassuringly. “Fear is very much a part of life, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not. Not much for fear, either, so could we wrap this up? I’m getting bored.”

It smiled, a sliver of shark teeth appearing between its lips. “Oh, so brave. Georgia Lass. The leader. The protector. Who isn’t scared of anything. Except all the things she fears.”

She looked at it sharply. “I’m not scared.”

“Oh, but you are. Everyone is. It’s the one thing I always know. You, Georgia Lass, are afraid you’ll never be enough. You’ll never chase away Mason’s fears, or Daisy’s loneliness. You’ll never be strong enough for Roxy. And yet, they will go, and they will leave you, and you will be left behind, because you aren’t like them.”

She didn’t respond. She refused to respond. Even as the words struck deep into her heart, where she had buried the thoughts. “Of course I am. A reaper’s a reaper.”

“Reapers can’t see all the things you do,” it said sweetly. “Reapers can’t do all the things you do.”

She just stared back at it defiantly. “Did you have a point, Hannibal?”

“Not particularly,” it said abruptly, pushing off the car and beginning to glide around the back. “I didn’t come here to talk about you, as such. I came to talk about one Jack Frost, and why you, I, and he can all see each other, but you are blind to six-foot tall rabbits, and they to you.”

“Rabbits?” she repeated blankly. The depths of her memory stirred, Jack Frost telling ‘Bunny’ to be quiet.

“The Easter Bunny.”

“You’re shitting me.”

It chuckled darkly as it turned the last corner, and she found herself staring at where its shadows melted into the ground. It was weird – its coat became its body became its feet became the shadows on the footpath, seamless and wrong. The height was unnatural too. She had to crane her head back to look it in the eye as it came closer, towering over her in a way not even Mason could.

“Would you like to know my theory?” it asked. “About why you see us?”

“Go ahead,” she said, barely moving her lips as she glared. She’d been able to reap a graveling. She was almost positive she’d be able to reap this guy, too. She really, really wanted to.

“I think it’s because we’re the same. We are all the things they call evil, without cause. Dark, like me, cold, like Jack, death, like you. We bring the things that mothers hold their children close to protect from. The things every human fears.”

She narrowed her eyes, thinking back to Jack Frost. He’d been very cold, it was true, and she’d seen a lot of people die in winter. But that guy, with his glowing eyes and what he’d done for those stupid lovers in the Park… “I think you’re a little off-base there, Creepy. You wanna back up a little, by the way? I like me some personal space.”

“I know,” it said, and moved a little closer. “If I’m so wrong, then what is your theory?”

She tried to ignore the prickling running up the side of her body closest to it. She wasn’t scared, but that didn’t stop this creature from being even worse than the murderers and psychopaths she’d dealt with before. They, at least, were real. Human. This was something… more. Something dangerous in a way that had nothing to do with the body.

“I don’t know,” she said finally. “But what I do know is that you’re forgetting one thing. I may see you, but you don’t always see me. You walked through me once.”

It blinked. “I walked through you?” it asked, then smirked. “Tell me, how did you find the experience?”

She didn’t bother to answer, just stared up at it blandly for a long few seconds. The sound of a door opening caught her attention, and she turned to see Roxy leading a young teenager by the hand. A shining wall appeared in front of George, two beautiful blue figures bending down, reaching out to the kid.

Without even really thinking, George looked up at Fear, but it was still watching her intently, as if trying to see through her. She went back to the lights, and smiled as the teen ran forward, fading up into something beautiful and warm. Home. Family.

And beside her, Fear frowned and straightened up, looking around quickly. “Now where did she disappear to…?”

She kept her attention on the lights, focussing on the reaping well done, and then smiled at Roxy once they’d faded. “Nice job.”

“Thanks. Were you okay out here on your own? This neighbourhood’s kinda spooky, if you ask me.”

She glanced at Fear, who seemed to have gotten bored looking for her, and was now sliding back into the shadows. “Nah… it gave me some time to think.”

 

* * *

 

The next few years were… interesting. Seattle didn’t get much snow, even for them, so there was no Jack Frost. But she saw Fear plenty, skulking around the edges of her reaps, watching her with judging eyes. She ignored it. Slightly harder to ignore was when she caught glimpses of what looked a hell of a lot like a six foot tall rabbit.

She could never see him properly, but he was there, once or twice a year, in the corner of her eye. Watching, just like Fear, only he was never around on her reaps.

Daisy moved on. Watching her go, and realising it was happening, was somehow the best and hardest thing George had ever done. She took the ring Mason had given her so many years ago, and started wearing it more. She smiled less, but wider. She got a job at a newspaper, reviewing movies. She was happy.

And then she left.

It destroyed Mason, who fell into another downward spiral, which was hard when George was struggling with the new guy. He was older, physically, than any of them, and thought that meant he knew better. Wanted to save the goddamn world, one soul at a time. George wanted to strangle the son of a bitch, and Roxy was cheering her on.

“Why doesn’t he get it?” she demanded of Roxy. “It’s been a year! He should’ve quit trying to fuck with reaps by now!”

She shrugged, smiling like this was a great show. “Some people can be taught – other people have to learn.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“Me and Mason, we were taught – Rube told us the rules and we listened. You had to learn. You fucked up a lot, but you learned the lessons,” she said sensibly, gesturing at her with her coffee. “Craig just needs to learn on his own time.”

“What lessons? He’s done it all! Left a soul inside its body, tried to save someone… he went right up to his wife and told her who he was!”

“He hasn’t been responsible for a fire drill,” she pointed out, and George threw up her hands.

“But he did screw with fate and make his reap miss his appointment! He got beaten up by gravelings!”

“But he didn’t cause a fire drill,” she repeated quietly. “He still thinks he can fuck with fate, and that the only person he’ll hurt is himself.”

She stared at her blankly for a second, then threw up her hands again. “So what the fuck am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno.”

“What?”

“You’re the boss,” Roxy smirked and sipped at her coffee. “I wanted to be the one putting newbies in line, but the powers that be said it should be you. Therefore, this ain’t my problem. You figure it out.”

“This is bullshit!”

“Thought you were used to getting ‘fucked by the fickle finger of fate’ by now.”

“Fuck off, Roxy,” she said, and glared at her oatmeal. This was not how she’d wanted to spend her silver anniversary year. She better at least get watch on her death day, or so help her, heads would roll.

Her year was turning out pretty crappy, all things considered. Millie had been forced to leave Happy Time about a decade ago, when one too many people started asking about how she managed to stay looking so young, but she’d kind of always thought Delores would stick around. But no, her beloved first employer had finally retired, and gone to live in California, and Millie was lucky to get an email once a month. Her own job, at another temp agency, with the theory that with temps, she could swing another fifteen years as a very young-looking manager, was proceeding to suck, because no one quite believed she was in her twenties, and even less people believed she was capable of running an office.

Dying at eighteen was really starting to fuck her over.

Roxy had suggested, quite sensibly in hindsight, she move into fast food management. George told her to fuck off. She was telling her that a lot, these days…

She was contemplating that on the balcony of her office when her mobile rang, the song telling her it was Craig. She rolled her eyes but answered anyway. “What?”

He croaked at her, and she settled a little more comfortably against the railing. Craig didn’t like coming to her as a boss. It always made him sulky, and her smug.

“Something happen?” she asked sweetly, planning his punishment already. Dishes in Hotel del la Cameron for a month sounded good.

“Th- there’s… there’s a kid here.”

“That’s unfortunate,” she said. And it was. It was always heartbreaking when a kid saw your reap die. Even more so when they were your reap, but she’d given Craig his assignment and knew it wasn’t.

“No, I mean… he… there’s… George, is there such a thing as – as ghosts?”

Her immediate reaction was slightly less than gracious, but she managed to keep it in her own head. She’d never made a ghost herself, to her knowledge, but she knew they happened when someone screwed up badly. She looked down at the parking lot and drew in a calming breath. “What happened?”

“No, it – I didn’t – I mean… the kid is… in… in the mirror.”

“What?”

“He – he’s not there when I look, but he’s there, in the mirror, and he writes in the frost and condensation, and now he’s glaring at me and I think he wants to talk to you.”

“Me?” She frowned, trying to think it through. “How old is this kid? It’s not a pet reaper, is it? You can’t see a pet reaper? What the hell, Craig?”

“No, I – he’s older than that, I mean a kid like your age!” He hesitated, then added, “He’s writing something else now, he… he… wants me to tell you ‘it’s Jack’.”

She stilled, then lowered her gaze again. “Jack Frost?”

“Jack Frost? I don’t – yes, he’s nodding. He wants the ph- you want my cell? Can you even touch it? You’re not really there! I think I made him mad, George.”

“Just give him the cell phone, Craig,” she said, rubbing her temple impatiently. There was a short pause, and then something crackled, and she could vaguely hear Craig crying out in shock or annoyance. Possibly both.

Jack’s voice, when it came, sounded odd. Like it had to work up to being heard, and faded before he finished, so she only caught the middle. “—y can you see me but he ca—”

“We’re not supposed to talk to you,” she said coolly. “You aren’t part of our world. Leave my reapers alone.”

“—ew you were… Why haven’t you come for me? In three hundred years, why didn’t you ever c—” He sounded upset, and she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I just said you aren’t part of our world. Jack Frost isn’t real. Death is. Simple as that.”

“—w can you say I’m not real? You can hear me, you can see—”

“I can see lots of things that aren’t there.”

There was a pause, and she knew it wasn’t because of the odd way his voice was coming across. When he spoke again, it was quieter still. “—ant to meet y—”

“We shouldn’t even be talking,” she pointed out. “I’m not going to meet you.”

“—an find y—”

“Then find me,” she said. “I don’t promise to see you.”

There was the sound of his speech, but she didn’t hear anything concrete, meaning his response had been short. The next thing she heard was Craig swearing, and then the sound of him fumbling around with the phone. “George?”

“You couldn’t have ignored him?” she demanded. “He’s invisible! It’s not that hard!”

“What is he?” he asked. “He’s not really Jack Frost, is he? Is he a ghost?”

She opened her mouth, then stopped. “I’m not sure. Just do me a favour, Craig. Next time you see something in the mirror that isn’t really there, do like the rest of us and don’t look at it!” she ordered, and then stabbed at her cell until it turned off.

 

* * *

 

She shouldn’t have been surprised that Jack Frost was sitting in a tree outside the kitchen window when she got home that night. Or that Craig wasn’t in the slightest bit aware of it.

“He didn’t follow me home,” he said, and patted George on the shoulder. “I think we’re okay.”

She looked out through the lazy snow, and Jack raised a hand to wiggle his fingers at her. Then he turned it around to beckon her out.

For a few moments, she debated not going. Pretending, as she’d threatened, to not see him. But the longer she stood still, the harder Jack’s smile got, and he formed a snowball out of nothing to toss it in one hand, silently warning.

Right now, the snow was light and lazy, and would probably be gone by morning. She didn’t doubt he could cover them in three feet of snow right before she had to leave for work tomorrow.

She sighed and went back to the foyer, pulling her coat back on, but she didn’t go outside – just opened the door and waited. After a few moments, he skidded in, looking nonchalant and smiling with too-white teeth.

“Hi there. We’ve never been introduced,” he said, and leaned on his staff. “I’m Jack Frost. Spirit of Winter and Guardian of Fun.”

“George,” she replied shortly, but after he continued staring at her expectantly, she grudgingly added, “Lass. Grim Reaper. And Temp Business Manager.”

“I have no idea what that last one means, but Grim Reaper is interesting,” he said, his smile gaining a brittle edge. “I don’t buy that you decide who lives and dies.”

“No. I just collect the souls,” she said, and for a second, he looked almost heartbroken.

He lowered his head, gazing at his toes for a few moments, then shifted to lean against the other side of his staff. “You don’t actually know why people die, huh?”

“Because it’s their time,” she said, then shrugged. “But no, not really. I also don’t know why some people are made to stay behind. I kinda worked it out for me, and maybe Mason, but I’ll be damned if I know what Craig’s deal is.”

He looked up at her from under his eyebrows. “You’re all dead?”

“Undead,” she corrected, then shrugged. “But yeah. Why? Know the feeling?”

Jack hesitated, then took a deep breath and nodded. He tried to smile again. “Don’t tell anyone though, huh? It’s a conversation I’m not really looking forward to having.”

“With who? That Boogeyman guy?”

“Pitch?” He looked up sharply, self-pity disappearing into something that looked weirdly protective, all things considered. “You met Pitch Black?”

“Uhh… tall, black thing? Kinda looks like a mix between a graveling and a shark?”

He shook his head slightly, apparently refusing to get caught on something he didn’t understand. “Wh- what did he want? He doesn’t care about adults – he – what did he want?”

She turned her head slightly, shoving her hands in her pockets. “It was a few years back, and he’s not exactly the type of person I memorise conversations for. Mostly, he wanted to talk about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. Why I can see you.”

He blinked, then slumped back a little, before frowning and looking up again. “But you can see him. You couldn’t see Bunny. I thought… I thought you can only see me because I’m dead… is Pitch dead?”

“Not that I could tell,” she said. “Look, there are these things that cause the accidents, the murders, whatever. They’re called gravelings. He reminds me of them. And he always seems to be around when big deaths happen. Tragedies and bigger,” she added thoughtfully. “My old boss used to say he was Fear, so I guess that’s not surprising.”

“He feeds off fear,” Jack said absently. He was staring into space though, as if considering what she was saying. “He’s not fear itself… unless you think I’m winter itself, and I can tell you right now _that’s_ not right.”

“Well, whatever he is, he’s creepy. And he’s different than you.” She paused as Jack looked up again, confused. “You can see me when I go all reaper-power-ey, taking souls and stuff. He can’t.”

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “That seems… weird. I mean, I get why Bunny can’t see you – hope is kind of a moot point once death’s a guarantee. But I woulda said someone like Pitch would be all over that stuff.”

“Death isn’t always about fear, y’know.”

He looked at her, and she shifted her weight to the other hip, eyes narrowing slightly. Oh, he knew that alright. She wondered if she should drag the admission out of him, or just let it go unsaid. In the end, she left it just a little too long to decide, as Jack smirked and pointed out, “I wouldn’t exactly call it fun either. And that’s my jurisdiction.”

She shrugged. “It’s worked out okay for me. You?”

The look he gave her could only be described as ‘old fashioned’. “That’s still not fun. And how long did it take you to get there?”

“A while,” she admitted, then rolled her eyes and shifted back. “Look, I don’t even totally understand what I am, so if you’re looking for answers, I can’t help you. You can see me, I can see you. I won’t get in the way of your work if you stay outta mine.”

He grimaced but nodded. “To be honest, I just wanted to know if someone was gonna reap me any time soon. But I guess that’s not your thing.”

“Not really. So,” she said, extending a hand palm out. “We good?”

“We’re good,” he agreed, and saluted her with his stick. Another moment, and he seemed to be literally sucked out the door. It would’ve been frightening if she hadn’t run after him in time to see him twist through the air and end up flying.

She paused, taking a moment to just watch him go, then shrugged to herself and shut the door. She’d seen weirder things.

**Author's Note:**

> The 48 is a collection of unfinished fics saved on my hard-drive, and I decided to post them in case people were interested, wanted to adopt them, or simply wanted to read them despite their state. This one was last edited 16 September 2015...
> 
> I love both of these characters more than I like how their respective canons ended (or in Jack's case - I loved the idea of the movie more than the movie itself). I was curious to see how they'd play off each other.


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